


Cooking with Blaine

by luckie_dee



Category: Glee
Genre: Christmas, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 22:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2828471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Klaine holiday fic inspired by <a href="http://kurtscoffee.tumblr.com/post/69695135590">this gifset</a>. When Kurt accidentally sets his saucepan on fire while watching the first holiday episode of <i>Cooking with Blaine</i>, he sets off a chain of events that leads to a life-changing December.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cooking with Blaine

**Author's Note:**

> I have kind of a tradition now of writing a holiday fic. I started this one last year but couldn't get it done in time, so I dusted it off to finish for this year. It does still have a strong s5 flavor (though I tweaked the timelines a tiny bit). Thank you as always to [Lindsey](http://controlofwhatido.tumblr.com/) for the beta ― I hope Santa brings you everything you want this year! ♥♥♥
> 
> Warnings: Sexytimes (no hard kinks, just briefly NC-17), some swearing, questionable comments courtesy of Santana. Brief references to Finn's death. A little minor angst, but think of it like a Hallmark movie, including the super cheesy ending.

Kurt was partway through yet another soul-sucking data entry assignment when his phone lit up with a text from Rachel.

_In between fittings and HE JUST POSTED IT!!!_

Kurt sighed, because of course it happened when he was at Vogue. Of course it did. Even though his internship was only part time, it seemed like every exciting thing in the world happened while Kurt was trapped at his desk. Including, apparently, Blaine Anderson posting the first holiday episode of _Cooking with Blaine_ (part of a series appropriately titled _Blaine’s 12 Days of Christmas Cookies_ , which Kurt had been looking forward to since the moment it was announced ― Blaine Anderson and Christmas cookies, seriously, what could be better?)

He eyed the woman across the hall warily, but she appeared lost to her spreadsheets and the holiday music she was playing _just_ loudly enough for it to be irritating. Satisfied that she wasn’t going to notice, Kurt nudged his phone a little farther back where he kept it hidden it behind his keyboard and sent a terse reply: _I’ll watch later_.

There was a brief radio silence, and then, about ten minutes later, Rachel texted him again: _omg Kurt you have to as soon as you get home! Trust me, you’ll appreciate it!!!!!_

Kurt arched an eyebrow at his phone. He and Rachel had been appreciating the Internet cooking show ― and its handsome, charming host ― since Kurt discovered it while searching for a video that could teach him how to make a perfect souffle that _didn't_ fall within five minutes after leaving the oven. They’d worked through the archived episodes over a long weekend, and they hadn’t missed a new one since. Although Kurt would be reluctant to admit it, he could easily recite his favorite installments from memory ( _Ginger-Scallion Egg Drop Soup_ because it was delicious and _Chocolate Zucchini Bread_ because, well, Blaine spent a fair amount of time handling zucchini). Neither his culinary skills nor his fantasy life had ever been richer.

He wasn’t sure what exactly would warrant _five_ exclamation points, though. And there were still almost two hours of administrative hell to get through before he could find out. With a sigh, Kurt refocused on his computer screen, willing the time to pass quickly.

*

The apartment was empty when Kurt got home ― Rachel was probably still at the theater, and Santana was either at work or out with Dani ― so Kurt didn’t waste any time in taking Rachel’s advice. It was actually nice to watch without her sometimes, because she’d managed to convince herself that one, her gaydar was superior to Kurt’s and two, Blaine was straight. Kurt was at least eighty-five percent sure that it was just wishful thinking on her part, but truth be told, he wasn't willing to argue about it when he wasn’t one hundred percent certain either. 

Then there was Santana. There was no amount of money in the world that would entice Kurt to watch the show while Santana was around to provide commentary. So, on all counts, the empty apartment was a perfectly-timed blessing.

After stripping off the various outerwear he’d needed to brave the frigid day, Kurt turned on the Christmas lights strung up around the apartment for ambiance (so sue him, he hadn’t had so much as a date in months) and set up his laptop on the kitchen table. It was his night to make (or in Santana’s case, order) dinner, so while he waited for the video to load, he pulled out two cloves of garlic to mince for red wine pasta sauce ― Blaine’s recipe, of course.

The episode opened with a festively-decorated version of the usual title card, and then Blaine’s face filled the screen, grinning out from under a fluffy Santa hat. “Ugh,” Kurt groaned, momentarily abandoning the garlic to look dreamily at the screen. “That is _so adorable_.” He continued to stare in an embarrassingly besotted fashion as Blaine listed the ingredients for Candy Cane Macarons. The very idea made Kurt’s mouth water... as did the sinfully perfect fit of Blaine’s cardigan sweater. 

Working slowly, with several breaks to gaze at the laptop screen, Kurt managed to mince the garlic and not his fingers as he watched Blaine prepare the macaron batter. While Blaine demonstrated the proper method for piping it onto baking sheets, Kurt poured olive oil into his saucepan and started to heat it on the stove. And then.

And then.

Then Blaine turned to get a pan of already-prepared cookies out of the oven, bending at the waist and presenting his ― round, perfect, much-fantasized-about ― ass to the camera. Kurt yelped “oh my god!” as it filled the screen (literally, the _entire_ screen), Rachel’s text suddenly making perfect sense. He abandoned the garlic and hurried to the table, rewinding the video a few seconds with only the smallest twinge of shame. Then he watched it again. And again. 

The only thing that stopped him was the smell of smoke on the air.

When it hit him, Kurt spun around to see flames leaping from the saucepan. “Shit shit shit!” he exclaimed, jumping back to his feet. He was halfway to the sink before he remembered that water was useless for grease fires, so he fumbled open a cupboard door and grabbed the box of baking soda instead. It was almost empty and what little was left didn’t seem to have much effect, so Kurt slammed a lid over the pan and turned off the heat, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Shit,” he said again quietly.

*

Later that night, after eating greasy delivery pizza and enduring a disproportionate amount of merciless teasing from Santana ( _you sure do put the flaming in homosexual, don't you?_ ), Kurt curled up in his bed with his laptop to finish watching Blaine making candy cane macarons. The episode ended with Blaine announcing a live cooking class at the opening of a friend’s kitchen supply store and his usual sign off, “Be sure to share these with someone you love!” He bit into a cookie and winked at the camera and Kurt just barely held in a whimper. 

He navigated to Blaine's website next, which included a small fan forum that he had been an active member of for months. He read the comments that had accumulated since the new episode was posted ― several of which mentioned the gratuitous ass shot. Although Kurt agreed with them (and maybe saved a screenshot to his computer), he refrained from joining the conversation. He tried as hard as he could to keep his posts clean, even after the episode where Blaine had used the phrase _perfect sticky buns_ no fewer than seven times. It _was_ Blaine's website after all ― who knew how much of it he saw? Kurt opened a new post instead.

**Subject: My Very Own Kitchen Nightmare  
** **Started by: pamela lansbury**  
 _Managed to set my best saucepan ablaze while making Blaine’s wine sauce to serve with dinner tonight. :( RIP Saucepan: you may not have been All-Clad, but you served me well. Blaine, if you’re reading this, you owe me one. (PS ― All-Clad or Le Creuset would be great, but I’ll accept Calphalon.)_

He hit the post button and rolled off of his bed to start his moisturizing routine. The sooner he went to sleep, the sooner the day would be over.

*

When Kurt woke up the next morning, he had an email announcing that he received a private message at Blaine’s website sometime during the night. Clicking on his inbox revealed that it was from someone whose user name was, simply, **Blaine**.

Kurt’s stomach twisted uneasily. There was no _way_. 

He opened the message and read:

_HI Pam! I’m sorry to hear about your mishap. Can you walk me through what happened? I’d love to help you figure out what went wrong so you can enjoy some delicious pasta in the future. :) Thanks for watching! ―Blaine_

Kurt sat back slowly, his heart thudding in his chest. He thought for a few minutes, and then sent back a reply: 

_Santana and/or Rachel, not funny. Whose idea was it to send this? If you don’t tell me, BOTH of your toothbrushes will get it!_

He closed his laptop and got ready to run a few errands.

*

There was another message when he got home. 

_Neither! It was mine. Hi again, Pam. I’m Blaine and I’d like to help you out with your pasta sauce dilemma, if you’ll let me. PS ― please spare your friends’ toothbrushes. Good dental hygiene is very important._

At the bottom of the screen, there was a blurry self-portrait, obviously taken on a phone: Blaine, smiling and holding up a napkin with _hi Pam!_ scrawled on it. 

Kurt’s stomach flipped over. He bent down, going so far as to hold the laptop up closer to his face, both to get a better look at Blaine’s charming smile and to verify that there was no way Santana or Rachel could have manipulated the photo. It certainly looked real, and he was pretty sure that neither one of them had any Photoshop skills to speak of. (Not to mention that if Santana had made it, the sign would say _please eat my dick_ or something equally charming.)

Kurt dropped the laptop back to his bed with a muffled squeal. _Blaine Anderson_ had been sending him private messages. _Blaine Anderson_ cared about his pasta sauce predicament and his scorched saucepan. He had a personalized selfie from _Blaine Anderson_. Who probably thought that he was a middle-aged woman, but whatever. That could be easily remedied.

As he poised his fingers over the keys to respond, though, Kurt realized that there was a problem. Because there was no way that he could say _Yes, hi, Blaine, I almost burned down half a city block because the sight of your ass filling my computer screen basically transported me to another space-time dimension_. No, no, vagueness was probably best.

**To: Blaine  
** **From: pamela lansbury**  
 _Blaine,_

_Thank you very much for your concern, but I’m afraid there’s not much you can do. I was distracted after I started heating oil to saute the garlic and I walked away from the stove, so the blame is all mine. My roommates and I have made your red wine sauce many times ― all the other batches were delicious and not at all in flames. Thank you so much for your show! You’ve saved everyone in this apartment from a life doomed to ramen noodles and microwave macaroni and cheese._

_Kurt_

_PS ― Pamela Lansbury is the name of our defunct Madonna cover band. Perhaps you’ve (never) heard of us?_

Satisfied, Kurt reread the message three times for typos, and then hit send.

He forced himself to stay away from the computer for the next few hours, going so far as to clean the bathroom to keep himself occupied. He deliberately left his phone silenced and sitting on his bedside table. It was superstitious as hell. 

And it worked. When Kurt ― very nonchalantly ― checked his email later in the day, there was another message from Blaine.

**To: pamela lansbury  
** **From: Blaine**  
 _Kurt,_

_I’m honestly sad to say that I wasn’t aware of Pamela Lansbury ― I would have loved to see you play, I’m sure! And I’m sorry to hear about your pan, but glad that the damage wasn’t worse. Thanks again for watching and I hope you have more luck with the next batch. Let me know if you ever have any questions! ―Blaine_

Kurt allowed himself another moment of indulgent celebration ― it may have involved a few seconds of a shoulder-shimmying dance ― but he decided not to respond right away. He wanted to play it cool, and he could take a few days to come up with the perfect cooking-related question for Blaine. 

*

By the time he got home from keeping his foot in the door at Vogue two days later, however, he still hadn't sent anything. He'd spent the last hour of his shift mulling over the options, but when he got home, Rachel trailed him into his bedroom, where he found a cheerfully-wrapped shoe box sitting on his bed. “I hope that’s the Gucci wingtips I was drooling over last month,” he said, dropping his satchel next to his nightstand.

Rachel rolled her eyes and cocked her head at him. “Just open it.”

Kurt did, but sadly, instead of shoes, the box contained a pile of crumpled-up newspaper and an envelope. Inside, he found two tickets to ― 

“Blaine Anderson’s live cooking demo this weekend!” Rachel squealed, punctuating her excitement with several claps of her hands. 

He stared blankly at the tickets for a moment, and then he felt his eyes bulge as the realization hit him. “Oh my god! We’re going to be in the same room as Blaine Anderson?” 

Rachel flopped dramatically to sit on the edge of the bed and tugged Kurt down next to her. “I bet we’re going to _meet_ Blaine Anderson! Maybe if we play our cards right, he’ll give one of us his number,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Merry Christmas! Do you like it?”

“Thank you,” Kurt replied, pulling her into a one-armed hug. “This is perfect.”

Rachel squeezed him back, and then leaned away again, this time with a much more serious expression on her face. “I just figured that if you’re going to stay in Lima for a while after the holidays, you should at least go out with a bang.”

“Rachel…” Kurt warned.

“I know we said we wouldn’t talk about it anymore!” she interrupted. “But I’m just saying, Kurt… when you book your flight, I think that you should buy a return ticket too. I hate seeing you just… give up.”

Kurt bristled. “I’m not _giving up_. My dad is having surgery, and he needs someone to take care of the shop while he’s recovering. It would have been ―” he faltered “― it would have been…”

“It would have been Finn,” Rachel said quietly, looking down at her hands. “Finn would have done it. It's been a year, you know. You don't have to treat me with kid gloves anymore.”

“I know,” Kurt replied, his tone going gentle. “But anyway, Finn can’t help out, so I’m going to. It’s not forever. Probably just a month, maybe two. Don’t think of it as giving up; think of it as… regrouping.”

Rachel was watching him again, and Kurt didn’t like the knowing look in her eyes. “ _Is it_ just for a month or two?” 

“That’s how long the recovery is. Four to six weeks,” Kurt hedged. He turned away to start stuffing the newspaper back into the shoe box.

“But you might stay longer,” Rachel surmised, taking the box out of his hands and forcing him to look back up.

Kurt scowled at her. “I don't know. Look, Rachel, maybe it’s best if I just spend some time there and do nothing but work. The Lima Bean would probably take me back too. I can just save up a bunch of money, and come back and take New York by storm in the spring.” _Or summer_ , he added mentally.

“What about Vogue?” Rachel asked.

“ _Vogue_ doesn’t even pay me well enough to cover my part of the bills every month,” Kurt said dejectedly. “And they keep giving the permanent positions ― you know, the ones with liveable salaries ― to the interns that actually have degrees. I can’t keep living off of your charity, or Santana’s. Especially Santana’s. I can’t even imagine what she’ll ask me to do in return some day.”

Rachel reached out to touch his arm. “ _Nothing_. She doesn’t expect anything and neither do I. We like having you here. We’re family.”

“Then we’ll still be family when I get back, right?”

“Of course,” Rachel said. Her hand tightened on his bicep, and she asked softly, “What about NYADA?”

Kurt shook her off and crossed his arms over his chest. “I think two failed auditions is enough, thank you very much. On the bright side, it gave me plenty of practice for all the other rejection I’ve had since then.” 

“Kurt, do you remember Raphael from my dance class? Do you know how many times he had to audition before he got in? Because ―” 

“Four times,” Kurt interrupted her. “Yes, Rachel, you’ve told me. And believe me, I've heard that story _way more_ than four times.”

Rachel pursed her lips. “Just… just think about it, okay? Before you make any decisions. We want you _here_.”

“I'll think about it,” Kurt said. Rachel looked unconvinced, and Kurt didn't blame her.

*

The Cook Nook was a little bigger than Kurt expected, with crowded shelves at the front of the store and an open area for cooking classes and demonstrations near the back. They were greeted by a tall high school student wearing a customized apron and a tragic bowl cut, who pointed to a few rows of folding chairs set up in front of the cooking area. “If you have tickets, you get to sit down,” he said. 

“What a charming welcome,” Kurt muttered, but Rachel just shushed him and tugged him eagerly forward. The first row of seats was already full, but she managed to tuck them into chairs off to one side of the second row. Kurt tried to make himself comfortable against the cold, unforgiving metal, but every annoyance was instantly forgotten when the knot of people in front of him shifted, allowing him a clear view to the back of the room and ― 

“There he is!” Kurt hissed, his eyes going round as he got his first look at Blaine Anderson in the flesh. Rachel let out a tiny squeak and clutched his arm.

Blaine Anderson was a little smaller than Kurt expected, but he realized just as quickly that he didn’t care at all, because Blaine was well-built and compact and wearing a fitted, vibrantly-colored blazer that was _absolutely perfect_. His bowtie had bright red candy stripes, and his smile lit up the room. 

“He’s even cuter in person!” Rachel whispered. “I wonder if that’s his girlfriend?”

Kurt managed to drag his eyes away from Blaine to focus on the person he was talking to ― a petite woman wearing a fabulous mod dress and hovering near his elbow. It was impossible to tell if there was anything between them, but Kurt felt an irrational stab of jealousy anyway. Before he had a chance to really start glaring daggers into the side of her head, she left Blaine's side to scoot around to the front of the counter and encourage people to take their seats.

When the room was relatively settled, she spoke. “Hi everyone! My name is Tina Cohen-Chang, and I’m so glad that you could all be here for the grand opening of the Cook Nook! This store has been a dream of mine for years, so if I pinch you later to make sure that you’re real, I hope you’ll forgive me.” The audience tittered politely. Blaine grinned, and Kurt swooned. “As a special thank you for being here today, anything you purchase will be fifteen percent off, so I hope you’ll stick around after the show and cross a few items off your holiday shopping list. Without any further ado, I’d like to introduce my very good friend and Internet sensation, Blaine Anderson, host of _Cooking with Blaine_. Take it away, Blaine!”

“Thank you, Tina!” Blaine said cheerfully, giving her an airy cheek kiss as she passed by. Kurt frowned, but it was hard to stay upset when Blaine turned back to the crowd and asked, beaming, “How are you all doing today?”

He was greeted with muttered chorus of _goods_ and _greats_. 

Blaine shook his head and started to shrug out of his jacket, leaving him in just a form-fitting polo shirt. Meanwhile, Kurt fought to keep his eyeballs in his head while Rachel’s fingers dug into his arm. “I’m afraid I didn’t hear that,” Blaine chided as he tied an apron covered with snowflakes around his tapered waist. “How are you all doing today?”

“ _Great_ ,” Kurt called rapturously, his voice thankfully mingling with the more enthusiastic response from the audience. 

Apparently satisfied, Blaine grinned and began an eager preparation of linzer cookies with raspberry jam. 

Kurt knew almost immediately that he wouldn't be able to tell anyone anything about linzer cookies when Blaine was done. How enjoyable it was to watch Blaine measure and mix the dough with confident, capable motions? Sure. How charming Blaine was, making sure to play to both the camera in the aisle and the assembled audience? Absolutely.

How Blaine's eyes kept catching on Kurt's when they swept across the crowd? Well, that was either happening or Kurt was having an extremely pleasant hallucination. It was probably the latter, but it was worth whatever concussion he'd suffered (from falling in the subway or tripping through the door, Kurt had no doubt) to know exactly what it felt like when Blaine Anderson smiled at him. Which he certainly seemed to after he sampled a finished cookie and invited everyone to the front of the room to get one of their own. It was fleeting though, and Kurt quickly told himself that it was just the concussion talking, or his overactive imagination.

He was startled out of his thoughts when he felt Rachel grab his elbow, all but yanking him up from his seat and towing him toward the cooking station. 

“Rachel, what are you doing?” Kurt hissed, trying to dig in his heels.

“I’m going to meet Blaine Anderson, and you’re coming with me,” she said firmly, urging him forward. 

Kurt came along reluctantly. “I really don’t know if this is a good idea,” he mumbled, but before he could protest further, he found himself face to face with Blaine Anderson, who blinked at him with wide, surprised eyes. Oh god, _his eyes_. 

“Hello, Blaine,” Rachel spoke up, her hand still curled around Kurt’s arm. “We’re huge fans. I’m Rachel Berry, and this is ―”

“Pam,” Kurt interjected faintly.

Rachel squinted at him. “Kurt. His name is Kurt.” 

But Blaine was already talking over her, his face lighting up. “Pam? Kurt! _You’re_ Pamela Lansbury! It’s so great to meet you!” He reached out to grab Kurt’s hand, covering it warmly with both of his own.

Kurt took the opportunity to dislodge Rachel from his person. “Likewise,” he replied breathily. Blaine tightened his grip, giving him a warm smile and most definitely not letting go right away. 

“How… do you know the name of our band?” Rachel asked, sounding completely baffled, and then Blaine was dropping Kurt’s tingling hand and turning to shake hers. 

“Pamela Lansbury is Kurt's user name at my website, and we exchanged a few messages after one of my recipes ruined his saucepan. Clearly, I owed him an apology.” As he spoke, Blaine's eyes drifted back to Kurt, and the butterflies in Kurt's stomach fluttered obligingly when their gazes met.

The thing was, Blaine wasn't _entirely_ wrong, but Kurt would never make him apologize for having such an amazing, distracting ass, so he quickly sputtered, “Oh no, it was all my own fault. The apologies were appreciated, but completely unnecessary.” 

“Hey!” a strident voice jumped in, startling Kurt and Blaine into breaking eye contact. Kurt tried to compose himself as he turned to see the store owner, Tina, tucking her fingers into the crook of Blaine's elbow. “Who's this?”

“This is Kurt ―” Blaine flashed him an apologetic grin “― and Rachel. They're ―”

“Oh, I'm so pleased to meet you!” she interrupted, sticking out her free hand to shake. “I'm Tina Cohen-Chang, but you knew that already. Thank you so much for coming out today! Wasn't Blaine's demonstration great? Have you tried the cookies yet? They're delicious.” After firmly pumping both Kurt and Rachel's hands, she dropped hers back down so that she was all but wrapped around Blaine's arm. With a valiant effort, Kurt managed not to glare at the place where they were touching. Or forcibly separate them.

“Yes!” Blaine exclaimed, stepping to the side and grabbing a platter of cookies. It had the deeply satisfying consequence of pulling his arm out of Tina's grip, but he stepped right back in beside her as he held out the tray to Kurt and Rachel. “I'd love for you to try one,” he added, smiling brightly.

Kurt accepted a cookie with a murmured _thank you_ , which was largely drowned out by Rachel's enthusiastic gratitude. “Thank you, Blaine! And thank _you_ , Tina, for hosting. This was such a wonderful opportunity to see Blaine in person. Kurt and I are huge fans of the show.”

Thankfully, Kurt had the cookie to bite into, which he hoped would somehow stop the blood from rushing to his face. It didn't, of course, but it was so good that he mostly forgot his embarrassment as he exclaimed, “Oh, this _is_ delicious!” 

Blaine's expression went almost bashful as he looked at Kurt. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Rachel bit into her own cookie with a rhapsodic _mmmm_ , her eyes flickering mischievously between them. 

Tina, meanwhile, flashed a brittle smile. “Blaine, I want to introduce you to a few people when you have a minute. They came all the way from Massapequa to meet you.” 

“Well,” Blaine said, “since they're from Massapequa.” Kurt thought there was a note of regret in his voice, and in the apologetic look Blaine flashed them. “I'm so glad I got to meet you both. Rachel ―” he shook her hand again, then took Kurt's, clasping it warmly “― Pam.” 

“You too,” Kurt breathed, and then his hand was empty and Blaine was gone, gone, gone.

*

When they were back on the street, puffing clouds of breath into the cold winter air, Rachel said, “Okay, I’m willing to concede that he might not be as straight as I thought.”

“What, _why_?” Kurt asked, ducking around a mother trying to corral her two small children. “ _I’m_ willing to concede that he might be much _more_ straight than I thought.”

“Are you kidding?” Rachel shot back. “He could barely take his eyes off of you!”

Kurt’s stomach flipped, but he still couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. “I don’t know ― did you see how fast the owner came over to stake her claim as soon as she saw us talking to him? It screamed _jealous girlfriend_ to me.”

“No,” Rachel disagreed as she lead them down the stairs into the subway. “It screamed _jealous friend with a hopeless crush_. He didn’t treat her like a girlfriend, and trust me, Kurt, he _only_ had eyes for you.”

“You're exaggerating,” Kurt admonished her as they headed through the turnstiles and onto the platform. 

“I'm not!” Rachel insisted. “He was even looking at you during the demo. I'm surprised he didn't take one of his fingers off with a cookie cutter.”

Kurt frowned at her, because she was _not_ helping him _not_ get his hopes up. “Okay, fine. Let's assume you're right ― so what? We went to the demo, we met him, and now we're going home. The end.”

“It doesn't have to be. You can email him and ask him out! Speaking of which, _why didn't you tell me about that_?” she demanded, her voice pitching up as she smacked his arm several times.

“ _Rachel_.” Kurt caught her wrists. “We've talked about this. These are small, but they hurt okay?” Rachel dropped her hands to her sides with a muttered _sorry_. “And I didn't tell you because there really wasn't much to tell. I posted about burning my pan; he apologized that I burned my pan while making one of his recipes ― that's really all there was to it.” 

“But now there's _precedent_ ,” she gushed. “You can totally get in touch with him and ask. Him. Out!”

“To have him turn me down because he's getting ready to propose to Tina at Christmas? No thanks.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Okay, so email him and find out if he's gay.”

“Right,” Kurt said dryly. “ _Hey, Blaine, it was nice to meet you. The cookies were great. Hey, if given the choice, would you rather bang guys or dolls_?”

“Not like _that_. Just, you know... _fish_ a little.”

“Fish?”

“More like, _Hi Blaine, it was so nice to meet you and your girlfriend today. The cookies were great_!”

Kurt snorted. “Because _that's_ not obvious.”

“Do you have a better idea?” she challenged. 

“Yes. Getting on this train and going home.”

*

Kurt considered it. He really did, but every message he thought of sending that included a casual girlfriend mention seemed too stilted, too forced, too obvious. 

And then, not even four hours later, there was a message in his inbox at Blaine’s website:

**To: pamela lansbury  
** **From: Blaine**  
 _HI Kurt, thank you so much for coming to the cooking demo! It really was a pleasure to meet you. I’m glad that you and your girlfriend could make it. I hope you both enjoyed the cookies. :)_

Kurt blinked at the screen. “He's fishing,” he whispered, his pulse picking up speed. “ _Oh my god_.”

For once, he didn't wait long to respond.

**To: Blaine  
** **From: pamela lansbury**  
 _Blaine,_

_It was a pleasure to meet you, and an absolute pleasure to sample those cookies. Rachel and I both loved them, and although we also love each other, it's strictly platonic. We've been good friends since high school, and she's definitely not my type._

Kurt's heart pounded even harder, knocking on his ribs as he typed the next sentence. He was going to do it. He was going to fish, and even if it was stilted and forced and obvious, well... Blaine had done it first.

_However, speaking of girlfriends, it was lovely to meet Tina too._

_Can't wait to see what kind of cookies you'll be making next!_

_Kurt_

*

For almost an entire day, there was no answer. Kurt's hopes soared and crashed every time his phone chimed with a notification, and even though barely twenty-four hours had passed, he started to wonder if that was it. That he'd had a fling with excitement that was unexpected, short, and regrettably over.

But then, just before Kurt was about to start getting ready for bed, the message came. 

**To: pamela lansbury  
** **From: Blaine**  
 _Kurt,_

_Sounds like Tina's as much my type as Rachel is yours. Maybe we should discuss it over coffee and make sure we're on the same page?_

_As for the next cookies, tomorrow's ep goes up at 1 PM! Here's a hint: pinwheels. :)_

_Hope to hear from you soon,  
Blaine_

“Oh my god,” Kurt whispered. And then, louder: “Oh my god!” He abandoned his computer and rushed into the main part of the loft, where Rachel was reading a magazine and Santana was painting her toenails. “Blaine Anderson asked me out!” he exclaimed. 

Their response was supremely lackluster: Santana just muttered, “I really don’t need a detailed play-by-play of your sparkly, pre-tween fantasies,” without even looking up from her feet, and Rachel gave him a blank look and a “what?”

“Blaine Anderson. Sent me an email. And asked me to have coffee with him!” Kurt elaborated, flapping his hands to punctuate the importance of what had just happened. 

_That_ got more of a reaction. Rachel dropped her magazine and stared at him with eyes like saucers. “Oh my god!” 

“I _know_! What do I do?” he asked, starting to pace anxiously in front of the couch. 

Santana shot him a withering look. “Hummel, are you really stupid enough to turn down a date with the guy you’ve been wetting your panties about for months?” 

Kurt pivoted and glared right back. “It’s not that easy, and you know it. I’m leaving for Ohio in less than two weeks, and I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

After an impressive roll of her eyes, Santana capped her nail polish. “Look, I am getting really sick of this bullshit,” she said sternly, climbing to her feet and pointing the bottle at Kurt. “You are not moving back to Ohio, so cut the crap. You belong here, with us. As for Anderson, _obviously_ you say yes, and then be thankful that there’s probably still enough time to get into his neon pants before you have to leave, just like you always wanted.” 

“Santana, it’s not like that,” Kurt hissed at her as she tottered by, walking awkwardly on her heels. 

“Isn’t it?” she asked, before disappearing into her room.

When she was gone, Kurt collapsed miserably onto the couch next to Rachel. “What should I do, Rach?” 

“Well, ordinarily I would tell you to follow your heart and do what you think is right,” she said, offering him the bowl of popcorn she’d been eating. Kurt took it despondently and shoved a few kernels into his mouth. “But in this case, I think you should go out with him.”

“What?” Kurt asked around a mouthful of popcorn, cutting her a suspicious glance out of the corner of his eye.

She actually bounced in place on the couch. “Kurt, come on! It’s _Blaine Anderson_ ; are you crazy? And besides,” she added, her tone shifting, “maybe he’ll give you extra incentive to change your mind about Ohio?”

“Rachel, my dad needs me. I am not changing all my plans and staying in the city just for a _guy_.”

“Not even if the guy is Blaine Anderson?”

“Not even then.”

“So you’re not going to have coffee with him?” she asked, sounding like Kurt had just taken her puppy away.

“…well, I suppose coffee wouldn’t hurt.”

*

When he arrived at the coffee shop, Kurt spotted Blaine right away: he was hovering near the door but staying politely off to one side of the line. He turned immediately when he heard the door open, and his face lit up above his bright red scarf when his eyes met Kurt’s. Kurt bit his lip and smiled shyly back, joining Blaine at the back of the short queue of customers. Blaine stood close and greeted him warmly: “Kurt! I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Kurt replied, “and for taking time out of your busy schedule. I’m surprised you don’t have to be in the kitchen working on day seven of twelve.” 

Blaine ducked his head a little, still grinning. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Well, there was no way to say no to that, especially not when Kurt was faced with the way Blaine’s eyes were sparkling. He dropped his voice and murmured “of course” as he shifted forward with the line.

“Most of them were recorded ahead of time,” Blaine said conspiratorially. “I did the Eggnog Cheesecake Bars all the way back in September ― remember we had that heat wave? I thought I was going to roast to death inside that reindeer sweater.”

Kurt giggled and then faked a shocked gasp. “Blaine Anderson, you rebel. Deceiving the masses!”

“All in the name of Christmas cheer!” Blaine protested brightly, and suddenly it was their turn to order. The conversation lagged while they waited for their drinks and biscotti ― ordered at Blaine’s insistence ― and then Blaine lead them to a small table that had no choice but to be cozy. Kurt shrugged out of his jacket, and he turned back to the table after hanging it on his chair to see Blaine sneaking a tinfoil-wrapped package out of his coat. He pressed one finger to his lips, winked, and quickly exchanged the biscotti on the plate for the ones from his pocket. Kurt recognized them as the cheerful, red-and-green Cranberry-Pistachio Biscotti that Blaine had made a few episodes earlier.

“Wow, you really are a rebel,” Kurt commented. He was reaching for the plate ― secretly thrilled that he was actually getting to taste them ― when his brow furrowed. “Wait a second. Did you make these in September too?”

“What? Oh, no,” Blaine said, dropping his gaze to stir his coffee. “No. I, uh ― I just made those yesterday.”

“I thought they were all filmed ahead?” Kurt took a bite of the biscotti and couldn’t hold in a small moan. “ _Oh my god_.”

The corners of Blaine’s lips tilted up. “Thank you. And yeah, I had that episode done a while ago. I just made these because I thought they’d be a nice addition to our d― our coffee.” 

Kurt glanced up at him. “You made me biscotti?”

“Well, if you want to be technical about it, I made biscotti for both of us.”

“Technically, I suppose,” Kurt said. He caught Blaine’s eye and their gazes held for a long moment. 

“Technically,” Blaine answered, finally. 

Kurt cleared his throat and dunked his biscotti in his coffee. “So, Blaine, what do you do when you’re not being an Internet superstar? I’ve watched you cook for hours” ― _oh god, he probably shouldn’t have said that_ ; his face heated up, but he soldiered on ― “but I don’t know anything about you.” 

Blaine chuckled. “It’s not very exciting, actually. I’m a student. I’m in culinary school. It’s mostly just that and the show. Which, incidentally, does not make me a _superstar_ in any sense of the word.”

“Blaine,” Kurt said, raising one eyebrow incredulously. “Thousands of people watch it. I’m pretty sure that makes you a celebrity on some level.” 

He scoffed. “Is there something lower than Z-list? Come on, Kurt. Be serious. If you were sitting here with… with… well, name a celebrity. An _actual_ celebrity.”

“Taylor Lautner,” Kurt supplied, and his blush, which was just fading, flared again.

“Oh?” Blaine asked, with interest but without malice. “Okay, so if you were sitting here with Taylor Lautner or if I were sitting here with Adam Levine” ― he winked ― “don’t you think people’s reactions would be a little different?” He glanced around at the other patrons of the coffee shop, who were paying them no attention. 

Kurt pulled himself back from the brink of panicking over just how little he had in common with Adam Levine ― a tiny, previously-botched tattoo and the ability to sing in a higher key than most men notwithstanding ― and considered their surroundings. “Still. There are people walking around in the city ― hell, in the world ― who know who you are!”

After another sip of coffee, Blaine rolled his eyes. “There are people walking around out there who know who you are too, Mister I-was-in-a-band.” 

“Oh, yes. Our three fans were incredibly passionate,” Kurt quipped. “Never mind that the band outnumbered them. But really, we don't need to dwell on my failed attempts at mainstream success. You must really love cooking.”

Blaine shook his head. “Oh no, you’re not getting out of it that easily. I’ve been waiting to hear about the glorious rise and fall of Pamela Lansbury for weeks.”

Kurt reached for another piece of biscotti and continued on like he hadn’t heard anything. “I mean, culinary school _and_ devoting so much of your time to _Cooking with Blaine_. _That’s_ passionate.”

With a sigh, Blaine relented. “I’ve been interested in it since I was a kid. My dad heads up an investment group that focuses on upscale restaurants, so good food was always a part of my life. When I was younger, my dad would bring me to the restaurants he’d invested in and I'd sit in the corner of the kitchen and watch the chefs work. I would ask a million questions. Looking back on it, I probably drove them crazy, but who’s going to say something when it’s the son of the person who’s funding your restaurant?” 

“That’s really sweet,” Kurt commented. “Do you want to have your own restaurant some day?”

“I want to be the next Gordon Ramsay,” Blaine said confidently, and Kurt burst out laughing. Blaine immediately looked affronted. “What?”

“It’s just ― he’s so… with all the swearing and the yelling, and you’re so… not,” Kurt fumbled out, trying to imagine the charming Blaine Anderson calling someone a _fucking donkey_.

Blaine chuckled. “He can actually be nice, you know. He just really cares about what he does and holds everyone around him to very high standards.” 

“ _Nice people_ don’t say ― wait. You’ve met him, haven’t you?”

Ducking his head, Blaine shrugged. “Yeah. Just once, for a few minutes. He was really encouraging when he found out that I want to be a chef.” 

Kurt took a quick look around to make sure that there were no children within earshot, lowered his voice, and asked, “Did he tell you to chase your fucking dreams?”

Blaine snickered. “Something like that.”

“Shoot for the fucking stars, you ignorant ―” 

“ _Kurt_!” Blaine cut him off, laughing, his eyes bright. Kurt giggled back, leaning forward over the table, watching the subtle shifts of Blaine’s face as it relaxed into a soft, glowing smile. 

And then Blaine said, “Let me make you dinner.”

Coming back to reality felt like the time Kurt had slipped off a curb into a deeper-than-expected puddle of slush and ruined his favorite suede shoes. Everything had felt so _right_ , so _easy_ since he’d walked through the door, and he’d managed to forget the horrible truth, which he blurted out suddenly: “I’m moving to Ohio!”

Blaine’s expression registered confusion, then disappointment. “What?”

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt rushed out. “My dad has prostate cancer, and he’s having surgery just after Christmas, so I need to move back for a little while to help him out. It probably won’t be any more than a couple of months, but… I should have said something sooner. I probably shouldn’t have come today. I just… I’m sorry.” 

Kurt glanced away, unable to watch as Blaine’s face fell farther, and he was startled when he felt Blaine touch the back of his hand lightly. “Kurt, it’s okay. I’m glad you decided to come anyway. I'm having a great time, and the offer still stands. Will you let me make dinner for you? Not today, but sometime before you leave? There are still a few days left, right?”

Kurt didn’t look back up. “I probably shouldn’t.”

Blaine’s fingers squeezed around his. “Come on. What have you got to lose? It’s a free meal. From future master chef Blaine Anderson, no less,” he added, obviously trying to sound a bit more jovial.

“Well… okay,” Kurt said quietly. He glanced up to meet Blaine’s eyes and gave him a weak smile.

Blaine pressed his hand one more time and then released it. “So, you’ve held out long enough. Why did Pamela Lansbury break up?”

Kurt took fortifying sip of coffee and muttered “egos” darkly into his mug. 

“Now _that_ sounds like a story,” Blaine said. 

They slipped back into conversation, but it wasn’t quite as comfortable as it had been before.

*

Kurt hemmed and hawed about whether it was a good idea to have dinner with Blaine from the moment he said yes until he was standing on Blaine’s doorstep, and even Blaine’s smiling face on the other side of it didn’t make him stop. Once he crossed the threshold, though, it was too late, and he tried to relax while Blaine hung up his coat. He took a deep breath and looked around ― Blaine’s apartment was small and cozy, and it was nicer than the loft in that it had separate rooms that were actually divided by walls and doors. A squat Christmas tree, bright with white lights and colorful ornaments, took up almost a quarter of the living room. 

“I like your place,” Kurt commented as Blaine lead him into the combined kitchen and dining room. “Oh! This looks familiar.”

Blaine smiled. “It’s nothing special. I wish it were a little bigger, especially when we’re trying to film in here. Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the small table tucked against one wall, which was charmingly set. “Can I get you a glass of wine? I just need to finish the salad and then we can eat.”

“Please,” Kurt said, taking a seat so that he could face Blaine. 

“I made vegetable alfredo lasagna,” Blaine explained as he poured, “so I thought something light would be nice. I hope you like Chardonnay?”

Kurt accepted the glass with a nod. “My favorite kind of wine is the wet kind, so this will be fine.”

Blaine laughed and returned to the kitchen counter, where he started to halve cherry tomatoes. “It definitely beats powdered wine,” he quipped. 

There was something almost erotic about watching Blaine work, his motions precise and practiced and easy. Kurt felt an unexpected tingle of arousal, and he took a sip of his wine to try and douse it, then cleared his throat and asked, “So, do you work somewhere too, in addition to all of your culinary pursuits? I know from experience that cooking is an expensive habit to support.”

“Ah, no, nothing that noble, I’m afraid,” Blaine replied, adding the tomatoes to the salad. “My parents still insist on sending me a very generous allowance every month while I’m in school, and they refuse to take it back and they pester me endlessly if I don’t deposit the checks. I just _can’t_ justify spending that much money on myself, so I use it to teach people to cook.”

Kurt cocked his head. “You don’t think that’s noble?”

Blaine chuckled as he whisked a bowl of salad dressing that he must have prepared before Kurt arrived. Kurt stared as he drizzled it over the salad and then tore his eyes away to try and focus on what Blaine was saying. “Well, the show gives me practice, so technically, I am spending the money on myself, aren’t I?”

“Don’t worry,” Kurt said as Blaine brought the salad to the table. “Your secret is safe with me.” 

Blaine looked right into his eyes and smiled. “I knew I could trust you.” They stared at each other for a long moment, until Kurt broke eye contact, awkwardly reaching for the salad tongs and mentally chastising himself. _Don’t get caught up in this_ , he chanted inside his head. _Don’t_. It was just dinner. It was barely a date, because Kurt was leaving, and then they would have to go their separate ways.

So he _tried_ to rein himself in during the meal ― which was _delicious_ , the salad and the lasagna and tiramisu for dessert ― but between the food and the low light and Blaine’s eyes and their comfortable connection, it was difficult, and Kurt caught himself flirting and gazing more often than not. They both grew a little melancholy as they ate their last bites of tiramisu, but then Blaine offered to make them spiced cider, and Kurt, against his better judgment, agreed that he didn’t need to leave right away. He stacked the dishes beside the sink while Blaine worked at the stove, and before he knew it, Kurt was sitting too close to Blaine on the couch, sipping a mug of warm cider with a hint of rum, bathed in the lights from the Christmas tree, with _It’s a Wonderful Life_ playing quietly in the corner of the room.

“I can never think of this movie without hearing _you can’t quietly wipe out an entire tent city then watch It’s a Wonderful Life on TV_ ,” Kurt commented.

Blaine’s face lit up as he exclaimed “Rent!” And that was all it took to launch a conversation about musical theater and their respective singing backgrounds ― the tiny, dysfunctional glee club that Kurt had belonged to and the prep-school show choir Blaine had fronted in New York that ran like a well-oiled machine. They talked and laughed and sang snippets of their favorite show tunes at each other and together, and they had just gotten done sounding out a few lines of Mark and Roger’s “What You Own” duet with stunning harmonies when it happened.

Well, actually, it had been happening all night and Kurt had been doing his best to ignore it, but there was no denying that Blaine was staring ― not just glancing this time, but staring, transfixed ― at Kurt’s mouth when they finished singing. Kurt licked his lips self-consciously, and Blaine made a small noise and whispered, “Kurt, please, can I…?”

Kurt would have loved to blame what he did next on the alcohol, but he’d only had the one glass of wine, and maybe half of his mug of cider, now abandoned on Blaine’s coffee table. No, he was warm and relaxed, but more than clear-headed enough to know that when he cupped Blaine’s face in both his hands and kissed Blaine’s waiting mouth, the decision was all his own. 

They didn’t go slow: the heat in the kiss built quickly and exploded all around them as Blaine fumble-banged his mug onto the table and their hands grabbed for each other’s hair and necks and arms and made fists in each other’s shirts. Kurt violently shut down the part of his brain that was shouting at him to stop and lost himself to it instead, to the solidity of Blaine’s body under his palms, to the wet, yielding pleasure of his lips, to the harsh rasp of his breath. And Blaine ― Blaine kissed Kurt like it was the only thing he'd ever wanted to do, and like he'd be happy doing it for as long as Kurt would let him. Kurt fell into it, losing track of time as he gripped Blaine tightly, angling their bodies so that he could tip Blaine back into the cushions ― when a key rattled suddenly in the lock.

The door swung open, and Kurt and Blaine tore themselves apart. Kurt quickly righted his twisted clothing, but he knew it didn’t matter ― they were both panting and flushed, and they certainly hadn’t just gotten back from running a marathon. A man carrying a paper bag walked in, and Kurt recognized him as Blaine’s cameraman when he pulled off his stocking cap. “Oh, hey,” he said, clearly surprised, his eyes shifting back and forth between them. “Okay, so you guys were obviously making out. Sorry, dudes. I thought you said he’d probably be gone by now?” He directed the question at Blaine and dropped the bag on the coffee table.

“Change of plans,” Blaine muttered, smoothing his hands over his hair. “Kurt, this is my roommate, Sam. Sam, Kurt.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Kurt said faintly.

“Likewise,” Sam replied, beaming. “Blaine, you have to see what I found at that thrift store. Check it out!” He reached into the bag and pulled out a Yoda figurine a foot tall.

Blaine eyed it blankly. “That’s ― great. What are you going to do with it?”

“It’s a tree topper!” Sam exclaimed. “The light saber actually lights up!”

“Oh,” Blaine said. He shot a panicked look at Kurt out of the corner of his eye. Despite his embarrassment, Kurt suddenly found himself stifling a bordering-on-hysterical giggle. “That’s awesome.”

The excitement slowly drained out of Sam’s face. “I thought you would like it.”

“Sorry, Sam. I guess I’m a little distracted?”

Sam blinked. “Oh, _right_. No worries, bro.” He clapped Blaine on the shoulder. “I’ll just be in my room. Watching a movie with lots of explosions. With my headphones on. See ya, Kurt.” He disappeared around the corner to the sound of a door falling shut. 

Kurt looked across the couch at Blaine, but he was staring at the Yoda tree topper with an indiscernible expression on his face. “So,” he said finally, “you probably have to go, right? I can get your jacket.”

He started to stand, but Kurt reached out to catch his arm. “Blaine,” he said, and then waited until Blaine glanced over at him. “I… I’d like to stay. If you want me to. I can stay for a while longer.”

Blaine nodded, and a small smile stole across his face. “I’d like that.”

“Okay,” Kurt breathed. He wetted his lips nervously. “Maybe… somewhere more private? Now that there’s someone else here?” 

He heard an obvious catch in Blaine’s breath, and Blaine’s eyes widened as he stammered, “Kurt… we don’t have to… not that I don’t…”

“I know,” Kurt said quickly. “I just want to kiss you some more while I still have the chance. And I don’t want to be worried about someone walking in on us while I do it.” 

Blaine took his hand and tugged, pulling them both to their feet. “That sounds perfect.”

*

Blaine’s room was tidy and snug, decorated with dark colors and lit by a tabletop Christmas tree on display in the center of his dresser. Kurt hadn’t gotten a very good look at it though; he was mostly aware of how comfortable Blaine’s bed was, with its firm mattress under Kurt's back and its thick comforter that they were halfway underneath, their legs and previously-cold feet tangled together as they made out in earnest. 

The kisses had started out sweet and slow, in a way they hadn’t the first time, but it hadn’t taken them long to get back to where they had left off, practically pawing at each other in a mess of tongues and teeth and ragged breath. It was starting to edge beyond _just_ making out, actually, and once again, Kurt couldn’t escape the fact that it was his fault ― he’d just finished opening all the buttons on Blaine’s cardigan, and he couldn’t keep his hands from running over the thin material of the shirt Blaine was wearing underneath.

“Kurt,” Blaine gasped as Kurt’s fingers grazed over the hard pebble of a nipple. “What are we doing?”

“If you have to ask, then I must be doing something wrong,” Kurt breathed in between kisses to Blaine’s jaw and down onto his neck.

Blaine arched his head to the side to give Kurt more room. “No, I just thought ― _uh_ ― that you didn’t want anything like this to happen?”

Reluctantly, Kurt pulled away and blinked at Blaine in the dim light. “I don’t recall ever saying that.”

“I think it was implied,” Blaine said softly, not making any move to kiss him again.

Kurt felt his heart sink. “Do you want to stop? Do you want _me_ to stop?” 

Blaine looked so torn that Kurt was convinced that he would put a halt to it, but his expression cleared a moment later, and he murmured “no, no, don’t stop” as he dropped his lips over Kurt’s again, kissed him richly, tugged up one side of Kurt’s shirt and touched Kurt’s skin with his warm hand. 

It went faster than Kurt would have wanted after that ― it might be their only chance; it was impossible to believe that someone as charming and handsome as Blaine, someone who could _cook_ , who was so smart and kind, would wait half a year for Kurt to come back ― but he couldn’t seem to slow down. It was inevitable, a slope they’d started sliding down as soon as they came face to face, that could only lead them here: Blaine with both hands tucked up under Kurt’s shirt and Kurt reaching for the fly of Blaine’s pants. 

Blaine didn’t protest, so Kurt unfastened it and tucked his fingers inside, feeling the hardness waiting for him there and listening to Blaine’s broken groan. In a flurry of motion, they both had their shirts rucked up and their pants pushed down, and Blaine curled his body into Kurt’s fist and touched Kurt's thighs, then his cock. It was almost overwhelming how _there_ Blaine was, how open and receptive as he whined and moaned and arched under Kurt’s hands. 

Still, Kurt came first, hard and almost unexpected, gasping and seizing up in the same moment he realized just how close he was. His hand went tight around Blaine’s erection, sticky now with precome, and Kurt _tried_ to keep working him, but he lost his rhythm with how surprisingly staggering the orgasm was. Blaine stroked him through it, then transferred his hand to his own cock, covering Kurt’s, and brought himself off with a few firm pulls. 

Kurt blinked his eyes open to see that Blaine’s were still squeezed shut as he lowered himself weakly onto the mattress. He leaned forward and kissed Blaine’s forehead, feeling loose and unaccountably tender, and he heard Blaine sigh. “Kurt, that was _amazing_.”

Giggling a little, Kurt nuzzled his nose into Blaine’s hair. It smelled like raspberries, and Kurt was reminded suddenly of the linzer cookies. “ _That_ was a couple of almost-fully-clothed handjobs under the covers like we’re still in high school.” 

“Mmmm, I don’t care. I feel amazing. You _definitely_ felt amazing. I think if you add it all up, that means it was amazing.”

Kurt grinned and leaned away again so that he could see Blaine’s face, his warm, sleepy eyes and his lazy grin. “I can’t argue with that. Well, except that we’re going to feel a lot more sticky than amazing in a few minutes. Do you have…” He craned his neck up to look blearily over Blaine’s shoulder. 

“Oh. Yeah,” Blaine said, stretching up and over Kurt’s body to retrieve a box of tissues. After they were cleaned up and tucked away, he looked at Kurt with a sad smile and asked, “Will you stay a little longer?”

And Kurt couldn’t imagine leaving so soon after that. His departure was inevitable too, but there was no reason it couldn’t be delayed by a few more minutes. “Of course,” he replied, and went along easily when Blaine pushed him to the other side of the bed and spooned up to him from behind. He didn’t remember falling asleep in the quiet glow of the Christmas lights.

*

When Kurt woke up, it was dark. He squinted at Blaine’s nightstand and found a clock reading 6:17 AM. He felt a sharp spike of panic, but he didn’t let it show, because he could tell that Blaine was still there, no longer snugged up against him, but close. Kurt could hear his deep, even breathing, along with muffled noises from the main part of the apartment. Moving slowly so as not to disturb Blaine, Kurt slipped out of the bed and crept into the hallway. 

He came face to face with Sam, who blinked at him in surprise. “Hey! You’re still here!” he blurted out.

Kurt quickly brought his finger up to his lips. “Ssshhh! Blaine’s not awake yet.” 

“Sorry, dude,” Sam whispered. “Can I get you anything?”

“Directions to the bathroom?” Kurt asked. 

“Simple. Only other door in the apartment,” he said, pointing across the hall. 

“Thanks. I figured, but I wasn’t sure if there were any more roommates, and I didn’t want to wake anyone up with an unpleasant surprise,” Kurt joked.

Sam chuckled. “Nope, it’s just the two of us. And for the record? I like you _much_ better than the last guy. Later, dude. Or hey ― maybe not, right?” He waved cheerfully and went back into his room, while Kurt’s stomach dropped. _The last guy? Later, or maybe not?_

Kurt used the bathroom quickly, in a daze. He gave himself a blank once-over in the mirror above the sink, tried to smooth his hair, and splashed a little water on his burning face. He should have known it was too good to be true. On the other hand, it hardly mattered, or at least it shouldn't. He would forget about it soon enough once he was back in Ohio. After patting his face dry with a hand towel, Kurt set his jaw and eased his way back into Blaine’s bathroom, where he found Blaine awake and smiling at the ceiling. He tilted his head up and greeted Kurt with a soft _hey_. 

“Hey,” Kurt replied flatly, hugging himself around his stomach. “I, um ― I didn’t mean to fall asleep, and I really need to get home. Could I have my jacket?”

Blaine frowned and sat up. “I was hoping that you might want to have breakfast,” he said quietly. 

Kurt looked down and shook his head. “I have to work later, and I’m leaving in a few days, so I need to start packing. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s ― that’s okay. I understand.” Kurt heard the sheets rustle as Blaine climbed out of bed. He hovered near Kurt for a moment, but Kurt kept his arms wrapped around his middle, and Blaine eventually passed by and lead him back to the living room. 

Kurt bundled himself up quickly, while Blaine waited awkwardly by the door. He swung it open when Kurt was ready and tilted one side of his mouth up in a weak approximation of a smile. “Thank you,” Kurt said. “For dinner. And ― everything.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Blaine said earnestly. “Good luck in Ohio.” He reached out toward Kurt, but in the end, just touched him lightly on the arm. 

“Thanks,” Kurt replied, averting his eyes and scooting past Blaine, through the open doorway.

“And Kurt ―” Blaine called. “If you want to get in touch when you’re back… I mean, please do.”

Kurt nodded. “Okay. Good-bye, Blaine.”

He turned and walked away with Blaine’s _good-bye_ ringing in his ears.

*

Although he knew it was unlikely given the hour, Kurt hoped valiantly for an empty apartment the entire way home.

The first thing he saw when he slid open the door was Rachel, yawning and standing vigil over the toaster. 

The second thing was Santana coming out of the bathroom, fresh and ready for the day and smiling at him in a way that was almost predatory. “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” 

“Shut up, Santana,” he mumbled, shutting the door and running an anxious hand over his hair.

“Wait,” she said dramatically, pausing in the middle of the room. “Just wait. I want to make sure that this moment lives in my memory forever: Kurt Hummel doing the walk of shame.”

Kurt yanked his jacket off. “Seriously, just leave me alone,” he snapped.

“Can’t you see that he’s upset?” Rachel spoke up, frowning across the room as her toast popped up behind her.

Santana cocked her head. “Yeah, I picked up on that. What gives, Hummel? I thought you’d be in a better mood now that you finally got a chance to hump those hot crossed buns.”

“Apparently I’m just one in a long line of one-night stands, or at least that's what his roommate implied,” Kurt announced, flopping dramatically onto the couch and hugging one of the pillows to his chest.

When he looked up again, Kurt found Santana squinting at him. “So what? You got to have sex with him, right? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“No!” Kurt protested. “I mean, yeah, of course I did. But ― not like that. Especially not after I got to know him better. I really felt like we had a connection, you know?”

“Oh, Kurt,” Rachel said sadly, cuddling up next to him, a plate of toast and mug of coffee in hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks, Rach. I’ll be fine. I’ll have plenty of time in Ohio to get over it.” 

He knew that Rachel and Santana were exchanging meaningful glances without even having to check. “Santana,” Rachel prompted in a completely faux-casual tone, “why don’t you tell Kurt your news?”

“Yeah, good news,” she said, still hovering over Kurt on the couch. “I got you a job.”

Kurt sighed. “Do I even want to know?” he asked.

Rachel rubbed his arm excitedly. “You do!” Her breakfast smelled so good that it made Kurt’s stomach rumble. He stole a triangle of toast from her plate, and although she swatted at his hand, she allowed it to pass without comment.

“I talked to Gunther again,” Santana continued, “and he’s willing to give you a shot at the diner.” 

Swallowing a mouthful of toast, Kurt asked, “Why? You’ve asked him a hundred times before. What changed his mind?”

Santana wrinkled her nose. “I gave him a case of Yeast-I-Stat.” 

Kurt froze with the toast halfway to his mouth. “Why does Gunther need an entire case of yeast infection medication?” he asked slowly.

Santana dropped onto the couch on the other side of Rachel, taking the last slice off Rachel’s plate despite Rachel’s indignant _hey_! “You know what? There are some questions that I just don’t want to know the answer to, and that is one of them. The important part is that it worked, so you can bring your pasty white ass back from Lima sooner rather than later and get yourself discovered, like Berry did.”

“What are the chances that two of us would get our big breaks there?” Kurt asked, sucking a smear of jam off his thumb.

“What are the chances that you’d ever meet the infamous Blaine of _Cooking with Blaine_ , much less get laid? And look at you now,” Santana said, jamming the last of her toast in her mouth. Rachel elbowed her sharply.

And just like that, any goodwill that Kurt had built up evaporated. “Yeah, look at me now,” he said, standing abruptly. “I’m going to start packing.”

“Kurt…” Rachel said, reaching for his hand.

He eluded her grasp. “Thanks, Santana,” he said flatly. “I’ll think about it.” 

She started to sputter out an apology, but ignored it as he swept into his room.

*

Three days before Christmas, Kurt was busy packing in his room when a knock sounded at the door. He paid it no attention at first, assuming that one of his roommates had ordered food, until he heard what seemed to be a scuffle, with Santana trying to keep whoever it was out and Rachel trying to let whoever it was in. A few seconds later, Santana called flatly, “Hummel, it’s for you.”

With a sinking feeling of dread in his stomach, Kurt peeked out from behind his curtain to see Blaine standing in their living space. He had a huge, gaudy gift bag in one hand, and he was keeping a wary eye on Santana, who was glaring at him so hard he could probably feel it. 

“Blaine,” Kurt said coolly, making his way into the room. 

“Kurt!” he exclaimed, the relief evident in his voice. “I’m so glad you’re here. I wanted to explain.” 

“So explain.” He kept his distance and folded his arms across his chest.

“And it better be a _damn good_ explanation,” Santana interjected, “or I’m gonna go all Bushwick on your ass.” 

Blaine looked alarmed, but Kurt just frowned at her. “Santana, can you just leave us alone? Please?” Rachel, who had been hovering nearby, grabbed Santana’s arm and started to tow her behind one of the bedroom curtains.

“Fine. But you remember what I said, Gelmet McGee,” Santana growled, pointing angrily at Blaine before she was whisked out of sight.

Closing his eyes briefly, Kurt shook his head and swiveled back toward Blaine. “So?” he asked, managing to keep his voice hard and unforgiving, even in the face of Blaine’s hangdog expression.

Blaine took a deep breath. “Okay. So, Sam told me that he said something about Eli to you.” 

“I don't need to know any names,” Kurt said through gritted teeth.

Blaine winced. “Right. Anyway, he was the last ― and only ― guy I ever… well, had a one-night stand with. It was right after graduation. My boyfriend had just broken up with me. It was my first real breakup, and I didn’t take it very well. And then Sam and I moved into the apartment, and I thought I would, I don’t know, experience big city life as an adult and it was just… it was stupid. I didn’t intend for it to be just one night either, but it turns out that was all that he wanted. I actually didn’t like that part very much. The one-night part, I mean. I don’t think I’m cut out for it.”

He paused for a moment, and Kurt filled the silence with a quiet, “oh.”

Blaine’s face and eyes were all earnestness. “Kurt, I _know_ I’m not cut out for it with you. I would never have let things go that far that fast if I felt like we had more time. I guess I just thought that it might be our only chance, and that once would be better than never at all. But I don’t want it to be just once. Please say it doesn’t have to be just once... _Oh god_ , that sounds awful.” 

“It really does, horndog!” Santana called from Rachel’s bedroom.

“No, really! I don’t want to make this all about sex. I just want to spend more time with you. Get to know you better. Go on more dates. I’ll wait if I have to. I know you said you weren’t sure when you’d be coming back from Ohio, and I don’t want to take you away from your family, but I hope you won’t be gone long.”

Kurt regarded him thoughtfully for a few seconds, and then asked, “What’s in the bag?”

Blaine blinked and then looked down, surprised, like he’d forgotten it was there. “Oh. I got you a Christmas present.” 

“Can I open it?” 

“Of course!” Blaine said, crossing the room to hand Kurt the gift bag. It was heavier than Kurt expected, so he set it on the coffee table to reach down into the tissue paper. He didn't have to go far ― almost immediately, his hands encountered a box. He dug it out to see ― 

“Oh my god!” Kurt gasped. “You actually got me an All-Clad saucepan? This must have cost you at least two hundred dollars!” 

Blaine shrugged shyly. “Actually, it retails for a little less than that. But I know the person who owns the store, so I got a good deal.” 

“I can’t accept this,” Kurt said, slowly lowering the box to the table, ignoring the hissed _are you crazy take the pan_ from behind him. 

“Just…” Blaine nudged the bag back toward him. “There’s more.”

Furrowing his brow, Kurt unearthed another, much smaller box and opened it to find a tin of cookies. “Thank you,” he said. “That’s very sweet.” 

“No, I just… I tell people ― at the end of the show ― to share their food with someone they love.” Kurt’s eyes rounded and flew up to check Blaine’s face. “Which I’m _not_ saying… I'm not saying that. Yet,” he rushed out. “But I’m just saying that ― you’re someone I could see myself sharing food with. Some day.” 

Kurt’s voice was quiet again when he spoke. “Oh.”

“So what do you say?” Blaine asked, visibly steeling himself.

“I say…” Kurt said. “I’m going to Ohio.”

Blaine’s shoulders slumped. “Okay.”

“But I’m coming back,” Kurt added. 

A spark flashed in Blaine’s eyes. “You are?”

Kurt set the tin on the coffee table as a shy smile spread slowly across his face. “Yes. Santana got me a job at the Spotlight Diner, and I managed to talk them into letting me start in February. I'll be back right before Valentine’s Day.” 

“Sounds like the perfect time for a second date,” Blaine suggested hopefully. 

“Well… maybe,” Kurt said, giving him a coquettish look.

“Oh _god_ ,” Santana groaned. “This is like watching really sad, amateur porn, and it’s equally embarrassing for everyone involved. There’s mistletoe in the corner ― can you two just mack and get it over with so I don’t have to stare at Rachel’s kitten posters any more?”

“With pleasure!” Kurt called back, grabbing Blaine’s hand and pulling him up off the couch even as Rachel let out an indignant squawk. 

“I do _not_ have kitten posters!” Rachel shouted. “Blaine, I’ll have you know that my room is decorated in a very tasteful homage to the career of my idol, the incomparable Barbra Streisand... Blaine?”

“Shut up and let them hump, Berry. The sooner they do, the sooner we get out of here.”

Kurt ignored them both in favor of pressing Blaine back into the corner, his hands splayed on Blaine’s narrow waist. Blaine’s arms came up easily around Kurt’s neck and, smiling, he whispered, “Will you call me while you’re gone?”

“As often as you’ll let me,” Kurt replied, leaning in.

“Merry Christmas, Kurt,” Blaine murmured just before Kurt’s lips touched his.

“Merry Christmas,” Kurt said, and kissed him.

*

_One year later_

Kurt rushed into the Cook Nook a few minutes late, and he headed directly to the back of the store, edging around the rows of filled seats to stand off to the side of the cooking area with Tina, Rachel, and Santana. Blaine looked up from adding the dry ingredients to his No Fail Sugar Cookie dough and gave him a surreptitious wink. “Rehearsal ran late,” Kurt hissed to the girls, dropping his satchel and trying to catch his breath. He spotted his father and Carole ― visiting for the holidays ― near the end of one row of chairs and waved.

By the time he’d finally relaxed and stopped sweating from rushing all the way there, Blaine was just sliding a pan of prepared cookies into the waiting oven. “These will only need to bake for five or six minutes,” he said, “or until the tops are just starting to brown.” He paused, but instead of getting a pan of already-done cookies out of the second oven, like he normally would, he turned to face the crowd again. “So, were any of you here last year when we did our very first live _Cooking with Blaine_?” 

A few hands popped up in the audience, and Kurt and Rachel laughingly raised theirs too when Blaine pointed an accusatory finger at them.

“It’s hard to believe that it’s already been a year since then,” he continued, “and it’s been an eventful one. I started my last year of culinary school” ― there was a polite smattering of applause ― “and as you know, if you’ve been watching the show, I’ve been spending a lot of time with my beautiful, talented boyfriend, Kurt.” 

To Kurt’s shock, that was met with another, slightly louder chorus of clapping hands. He’d made more than a few cameos on _Cooking with Blaine_ over the past few months, and the members of Blaine's website had taken a friendly, active, sometimes-invasive interest in their relationship, but he had no idea that anyone actually _cared_. 

“As it so happens, I met Kurt at this event last year, and he’s standing right over there. Should I bring him out?”

Applause sounded again, and someone actually _whistled_. Kurt flushed but let Rachel shove him forward, giving the audience a small wave when he reached Blaine’s side. Blaine dropped one hand around Kurt’s waist to squeeze him close for a second and kiss his cheek. “Kurt just got here from rehearsal,” he announced. “For any of you that _don’t_ know, Kurt was discovered at the Spotlight Diner a few months ago, and he’s currently in rehearsals for his _first_ Broadway show.”

“Just in the chorus!” Kurt called out over a renewed round of cheering. 

“But not for long!” Blaine added. “You’re going to see his name in lights before you know it. But in the meantime, Kurt, would you do the honor of getting the cookies out of the oven?”

“Of course,” Kurt said gallantly, putting on the snowman oven mitt that Blaine handed him ― just for show, because the cookies were already baked and the oven was cool. Still, Kurt was always game to perform, and he got a good grip on the pan, sliding it out ― 

And then he gasped, and let out a faint “oh my god.” Instead of the trees and stars he’d been expecting, the cookies were in the shape of letters ― letters that spelled out MARRY ME?

Kurt raised his wide eyes ― already prickling with tears ― to gape at Blaine, who reached out to steady his arm and whispered, “Don’t say anything yet.” He helped Kurt guide the pan to the counter, and then led him around to the front of the counter by one limp hand. The audience had gone absolutely silent, and Kurt caught a quick glimpse of Rachel, Tina, and Santana all clutching each other’s hands.

“Do you remember meeting me here last year?” Blaine asked, pulling Kurt’s attention back. 

He nodded dumbly and whispered, “Of course.”

“I grabbed your hand. And for those of you that don’t know me,” Blaine added, looking briefly at the crowd, “I’m not in the habit of taking people’s hands I’ve never met before.” He turned back to Kurt and tightened his grip on Kurt’s fingers. “I almost forgot to let it go. And the more time I spend with you, the more sure I am that my first instinct was right. I never want to let you go. So, Kurt Hummel…” ― he released Kurt’s hand to kneel, bring out a box, and open it to reveal a silver band ― “…my best friend, my one true love, will you marry me?” 

It felt like everyone in the room was holding their breath, but Kurt didn’t make them wait long. He was nodding before Blaine was done speaking, and he barely got out a whispered “yeah, yes” before Blaine was surging to his feet and crushing Kurt’s lips under his own. Kurt clung to him for a moment, deaf to the room around them cheering as they murmured _I love you I love you I love you_ into each other’s ears, but then they pulled apart so that Blaine could slip the ring onto Kurt’s finger. Kurt stared at it in shock before he was engulfed by hugs ― Rachel’s, Santana’s, his father’s ― and behind it all, he heard Blaine’s voice shout, “Happy holidays, everyone!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and happy holidays! Feel free to come say hi on tumblr [here](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/). :)


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